Two nights later, another blackout.

This time, Elias knocked once and said simply, “Come over.”

Against her better judgment, Lena followed him across the hall.

His apartment was sparse. Dark furniture, no photos, no clutter. The only personal mark was the desk: bare except for a locked black case and a stack of papers weighed down by a brass key.

He poured her a glass of water and leaned on the counter. “So, Lena… what are you running from?”

Her stomach tightened. “What makes you think I’m running?”

“People don’t move here by accident,” he said softly. “They’re looking for quiet. Or cover. Or reinvention.” His gaze pinned her. “Which are you?”

Her voice came thin. “Why do you care?”

“Because if you stay here long enough, the building will ask more from you than rent.”

She tried to laugh, shaky. “You talk in riddles.”

“Or warnings.”

The air between them grew dense, magnetic. When his hand brushed hers, it lingered.

“You shouldn’t trust me,” he murmured.

“Then why invite me here?”

“Because you’re the only one who knocked back.”

Her chest tightened, torn between thrill and fear.

Then—bang, bang, bang. Three coded knocks rattled his door, fast and urgent.

Elias froze. His expression darkened, every trace of warmth gone.

“Stay here,” he whispered.

And in that moment, Lena knew she had stepped into something she couldn’t step out of.